Person or Persons Unknown (12 page)

‘Mum?' she called. ‘Ready for our shopping spree?'

Avril appeared in the kitchen doorway, drying her hands on her apron. ‘I think I'll give it a miss, dear,' she said listlessly. ‘You don't need my opinion on what you're buying.'

‘Oh no,' Lindsey told her firmly, ‘you're not getting out of it now! I've booked a table for lunch at Netherby's, so we can revive ourselves halfway through.'

‘Lunch?' Avril echoed. ‘I didn't realize—'

‘You'll need your coat – there's quite a sharp wind this morning.' Lindsey eyed her mother's drab skirt and blouse. ‘Or would you like to change first?'

‘Why should I change?' Avril asked in surprise. ‘Not meeting the Queen, are we?'

‘I – just thought you'd like to wear something smarter, for going into town,' Lindsey said lamely.

Avril's eyes traversed her daughter, taking in the knee-length skirt, the boxy jacket, the bright scarf at her throat. ‘Well, I'm sorry if what I've got on doesn't suit you, but it's that or nothing.'

Lindsey suppressed a sigh. ‘Some lipstick, then?'

Avril snorted. ‘At my age? What's the point?'

Lindsey's temper snapped. ‘If you were a
hundred
, you could still make the best of yourself!' She seized her mother's shoulders and spun her to face the hall mirror. ‘Look at you!' she commanded. ‘
Really
look! When did you last have your hair done? Or buy any new clothes? When did you stop
caring
, Mum?'

Avril's startled eyes met hers in the mirror and she gave an uncertain laugh. ‘All this, because I'm not wearing lipstick?'

‘I just don't understand – you used to be so smart. Ro and I were always so proud of the pair of you.' She paused, then added deliberately, ‘And Pops still looks great.'

‘Well, he has to. The bank—'

‘Mum, he's an attractive man, and he meets attractive women every day in the course of his work. And then—'

‘And then he comes home to me,' Avril finished for her. ‘You don't need to worry on that score; it's a long time since your father afforded me a second glance.'

‘Do you blame him?'

Avril turned quickly. ‘Now look, if you've come here to insult me—'

‘Mum, I'm here because I
love
you, and I don't like what you've turned yourself into. Nothing seems to please you any more. Today was supposed to be a treat, just the two of us together, but I'm having to beg you to come out with me, and you're not prepared to make the slightest effort to—'

To her annoyance, her eyes filled with tears of frustration. ‘Sorry,' she said in a low voice, feeling for a handkerchief. Her mother was regarding her with a frown.

‘If it means so much to you, of course I'll come. But don't imagine that a shopping trip will turn an ugly old duck into a swan.'

‘You could be a swan again any time you wanted,' Lindsey retorted, dabbing at her eyes, but Avril, reaching for an old duffle coat, simply shook her head, and, having run out of arguments, Lindsey silently opened the front door.

The feeling of constraint lasted throughout the drive to town and the parking of the car, but as they emerged on to the main thoroughfare, both of them began to relax. The sun was shining and a brisk wind blew the first autumn leaves down the pavement ahead of them. Guild Street was thronged with shoppers, the windows were full of tempting displays, and Lindsey's heart rose again. Come hell or high water, she'd see her mother bought at least one outfit today.

Tom did indeed try to phone Catherine from the garden centre, but there was no reply and he didn't care to leave a message. Only as he rang off did he remember that she was expecting visitors this weekend; no doubt they'd gone out for the day. With a metaphorical shrug of his shoulders, he went to look at the sheds.

It was almost four o'clock when Lindsey drew up at the gate, but she declined the offer of a cup of tea. Avril gave her a quick hug before getting out of the car.

‘Thanks, love,' she said gruffly.

‘We must do it again.'

Avril nodded, hurried up the path with her parcels, and, after turning at the door to wave, disappeared inside. Lindsey started the car and slowly moved off. The hug had taken her by surprise – her mother wasn't demonstrative – but she was gratified by it. Perhaps it and the day they'd spent together heralded the beginning of a thaw that would bring her parents closer. She could only hope so.

Still clutching her parcels, Avril went into the kitchen. Through the window, she could see Tom at the bottom of the garden with Bob from next door, both of them bent over wooden panels laid out on the grass. The new shed, no doubt. She watched them for a minute or two, while a host of thoughts blundered around in her head. Then she went upstairs, took her purchases one by one out of their carrier bags, and laid them on the bed: a dress in soft rose-pink wool, an oatmeal jacket, a heather tweed skirt, and – a wild extravagance – a cashmere sweater in pale mauve. She stared down at them with something approaching panic. She must have been mad to allow Lindsey to talk her into this! She'd spent more money on clothes in one day than she had over the last five years. The final two bags, smaller than the rest, disgorged mascara, an eyebrow pencil, and a lipstick the same shade as the dress.

Lindsey had been all for whisking her into the beauty salon to have her hair styled, but at that Avril had drawn the line. Nevertheless, she conceded, it could do with a wash. Still hardly believing what she'd done that day, she went to the bathroom and turned on the shower.

She was still upstairs when, an hour later, Tom called, ‘Bob and I are off to the pub. I'll be back by seven.'

‘All right,' she called back from a dry throat. She was seated on the dressing-stool, staring at her image in the mirror. Her wispy hair was twisted into large blue rollers, and her face was an unaccustomed shade of beige. It was a wonder the liquid hadn't dried up in the bottle, she reflected; she'd not used it since the Harris wedding more than two years ago. Several times over the last hour she'd been on the point of running to the bathroom to wash it all off. And yet – a flicker of long-dead vanity stirred inside her. It
did
make a difference, having a little colour in her face. Almost fearfully, she reached for the blusher.

‘Something's happened, hasn't it?'

Catherine shot a quick look at her cousin, who, seated at the kitchen table, was neatly slicing beans into a colander.

‘How do you mean?'

‘You seem – different, somehow. As though you're hugging a secret to yourself.'

‘You're imagining it,' Catherine said with a smile.

‘Talking of which,' Elizabeth mused, as though she hadn't spoken, ‘did you ever realize that when we were young I was always pretending to have secrets, in the hope of inveigling one out of you in return? It never worked; you were always infuriatingly self-contained.'

Catherine glanced at her fondly. Both only children, they had early on formed a deep friendship that had stood them in good stead over the years, sustaining them through life's ups and downs. Though, Catherine reflected ruefully, when real tragedy had struck and Neil so unexpectedly died, she had not allowed even Elizabeth to penetrate her wall of grief.

‘So, since I've rumbled you,' her cousin was continuing, ‘you might as well come out with it. Is Jenny pregnant again? Or is it Daniel?' Her voice sharpened. ‘He's not being transferred to another office, is he? One that'll involve them moving away? I do hope not, when you're so nicely settled.'

‘Relax, Lizzie! Jenny is not pregnant and there's no prospect of their moving, at least for the present. Daniel's promotion hasn't come through, but when it does, he'll still be based in Stokely.'

‘Well, whatever you say,
something's
happened; I've been aware of it all day – over lunch at the pub, during the walk afterwards … If Colin hadn't been there, I'd have tackled you earlier.'

‘Talking of Colin, it's too bad to leave him alone while we chat in here. You go through and let me finish those.'

‘Sorry, that's not good enough. He's watching the match, and wouldn't thank me for joining him.' Elizabeth peered at her over the top of her glasses, which, as usual, had slid down her nose.

‘Good Lord!' she exclaimed suddenly. ‘You haven't met someone, have you? Yes!' Her voice rose in triumph. ‘You have! You're blushing like a sixteen-year-old.'

Catherine turned hastily back to the sink. ‘Can we drop this? It's not getting us anywhere.'

‘Only because you won't let it! Oh Catherine, come on! Surely you can tell me? You know I wouldn't breathe a word, and it would be so wonderful if—'

‘Look,' Catherine broke in, still busying herself at the sink, ‘if and when there
is
anything to impart, I promise you'll be the first to know. Will that do?'

Elizabeth stared at her back for a moment, then, seeing it was hopeless, capitulated and, with a sigh, returned to the beans. ‘Seems I've no choice,' she said.

On his return just after seven, Tom was surprised to see through the dining room door that the table was laid. He frowned. Was someone expected to dinner? With a flicker of hope, he wondered if Lindsey had come back with Avril and been persuaded to stay. Certainly they'd long since stopped using the dining room for just the two of them; supper was usually eaten in front of the television, a convenient device, since it spared both of them from having to make conversation.

He paused in the doorway to look more closely and saw, to his further surprise, that though only two places were laid, the best silver was set out and there were candles in the holders. What the hell was going on? It wasn't his birthday, or their anniversary.

‘Avril?' He glanced into the kitchen, but it was empty. ‘Where are you?'

‘In the sitting room.'

He pushed open the door and stopped abruptly. She was standing by the fireplace, tension in every muscle and a look of nervous defiance on her face. His breath knotted in his throat and his heart set up a thick, uneven beat. For this was his wife as he hadn't seen her in many a long day – hair softly curled, lips tinted, and a dress he didn't recognize flattering a figure long hidden under shapeless jumpers and skirts.

A dozen bewildered thoughts struggled for supremacy. This was Lindsey's doing – because she knew of his perfidy. But he didn't
want
Avril to change! Part of his rationalization for loving Catherine had been the contrasting frumpish image of his wife. Now, by transforming herself, she'd thrown the blame squarely back on him. And overriding all this reasoning came the numbing awareness that she'd made this effort for him, and that with every second he hesitated, the uncertain hope beneath her defiance was fading a little more. God help him, he couldn't throw it back in her face. Though he longed to turn and rush from the house, he forced himself to say, ‘My goodness, Avril! Your fairy godmother's been busy!'

‘Well, I haven't made much effort lately,' she acknowledged awkwardly. ‘Seeing all the glamour pusses in Guild Street brought it home to me.'

‘And – dinner in the dining room?'

‘Same thing applies – I've let things slip. We have the room, we shouldn't keep it just for company.' She paused, still watching him anxiously. ‘You – approve, then?'

‘You look – lovely,' he said. And wanted to weep.

Tony Crane looked up from his newspaper for the third time in as many minutes to glance at his wife. She'd been standing at the window for some time, arms crossed over her chest and each hand cupping the opposite shoulder. It was as if she were either hugging or protecting herself, and she shouldn't feel the need to do either.

Finally he laid his paper aside and went over to her, slipping his arms round her from behind and letting his hands rest lightly on her swelling stomach. It was dark outside; their reflections were mirrored in the cold glass, and beneath them the street lamps glowed hazily through the evening mist. ‘What is it, sweetheart?' he asked softly.

She gave a little shrug, and her hands came down to cover his. ‘Nothing, really. I'm just being silly.'

‘In what way?'

‘Cold feet, I suppose.'

‘About the parent search?'

‘Yes.' She turned in the circle of his arms, and he saw that her eyes were wide and frightened. ‘Oh, Tony, why did I do it? Why did I ask her? I wish things could just go on as they are.'

‘Darling, they will. Nothing'll change, whatever she finds out. We're still us, looking forward to having our baby. Nothing can alter that.'

‘I wish we'd never gone to the Ridgeways' party!' she exclaimed passionately. ‘That I'd never even
heard
of Rona Parish!'

‘If you feel like that, phone her and cancel it.'

‘I can't; she made that clear. She gave me one last chance to withdraw, and I didn't take it. After that, she said she'd continue with it like any other job, whatever she found out.'

‘That seems a bit high-handed.'

‘No, just businesslike. I don't blame her; she can't spend hours on a project, only to have someone change their mind and make her scrap it.'

‘What exactly is worrying you?' Tony asked after a minute.

‘Oh, all kinds of things. Getting my hopes up, and nothing happening. Or, even worse, Rona tracking down my father and him not wanting to know. It would be a second rejection.'

Tony laid a finger on her lips. ‘Now that's enough, Zara. You know perfectly well you've never been rejected in your life. Your father didn't know about you, so there was nothing he could do, and your mother hardly got herself murdered on purpose. She'd kept you, remember, though it wasn't nearly as easy for single mothers in those days.'